This Land is Yo land

  

straight out of cherokee county, a honky named joad

in a jalopy 64 running on drip gas down the 66

got my handbill got my nine got a wagon full of kin

i can see the promised land in tech9color

or grey black and white footage from the upper balcony

dense with promoter fog and reefer madness

the ax handle goons and strong swan song stutter studs

in a hooverville compton or peach filled swamp 

peer pressure or preening solid rarity  rocks the house in gilded glory

of violent opposition and instigators 

sugar boils the night into what the day's dough fails to feed

the cube rolls hard and snake eyes play a better preacher

opened to being there if goosebumps sag the performance

one can sink lip in solidarity this land is Yolanda

unless the fleece polices the first speech on a trail of tears tour

ill be there i'll be ill the handbill be unfingered 

fill those units quotas but lock felicia out

when the peckerwoods come knocking show'em the glock

mr block get back to the squad and hot rod it home

like a king on bling beating down the riot with words

just words and a strong ma and a death row left behind

full of pie in the sky pool parties while contracts contract smaller

until the pits are armed and the armpits bear cheery stones

taking the easy good fertilizer aid 

pitted bro on bro that's how the bible go, till it is gone

sez the preacher and the slave as one

goad the goed down the road and feeling bad is mighty nice

when lard and flour are the spice of life

your land is occupied Lando CaliRisen and the deathstar

warms up on the pass over punch down into purple drank

bedbugs flip worthless script in the honkytonk lie bank

what can eye get for sixty three cents but a boogie down

seduction for populism or a land free of the brave

the joads in the hood and pistons in the poetry unmoved

steaming open rustbelted hearts where engines once roamed

two movies diverged in a woods so we owned the owl

the hoot the loot and all that can't compute on a camel's eye

threading more my lie pie fulla birds that own the tiered tries

in crust we trust

 in sod we bust  

1666-present

 

                                         

sometimes shanty has too leanings (2018)

  

flung about on seemingly ordained orbital whims

wrung about that (like most else

sung ode to odd intimations, not intimacy

dung clung to the ladder up the siding on success

among heathen my brethren

brung my own owner and her downer loaner

mung beans all that inhabits my pantry

slung the shanty in fact fiction brick and diction 

2018

Two cents for nine

 they kick the ball, they run back

the ball, they grunt scream and collide,

watching their portfolios

behind concussions coincidental with overvalues of money.

symbolic hurt,

sponsored by resignation of inches across a map,

a field, oceanic territory, and one's worth

depleted shells of desperation

as american snipers are hailed

journalists jailed

and speech plays the snail, escargone

over freedom sensibility palate

dipped in butter of remorse

the only way to stomach the headlines

permissible in mecca by lash and sword,

and nra cowboys at the box office

where the minks are russian

and the muskrats take confession and give their

two cents while taking nine 

Nest ridden harpy song (2018)

  

Heart pines in ye wooden keep

Caer lined in ogre acorns three tonne each

Blown bout on drafts fire fears

Cold oak slaps iron-melted

Blood steeps nether retracted stairs,

Times cape unravelled

Bye threads of silkwyrm dragons

Nest ridden harpy songs demolish

Iced o'er moat

As crosswyrd puzzles furrough yon

Zero's brow a fathomless prow

Knots dreamed ocean tresses hullbrushed

Rivets star reflecting badges

Witch watched wishwash heaving

Havens no hart fog ventures 

2018

Stretchmark smiles (2018)

  

Washed up strippers with stretchmark smiles

Broken sidewalks run fer miles

Play the don't look game

Play the no cover game

Play dead possum it ain't hard

Cashed out workers lets grind their eye

Token patrons make a savory pie

Play the don't eat game

Play the short sheets game

Play human you're just lard

Trashed trousers no kneepads

Mashed muscles no gonads

Game the same gain

Game the blame fame

Game animal taxidermy card  

2018 

The toll (1987)

 The bell sounds a highpitched dingding and the boxers

Begin bouncing as if on a bed of coals, of all 

Their gestures a stony eyed stare is most intense

As they lunge and jab with fists

Trying to inflict damage on their brother, at

Worst a blackened eye split lip or concussion while in

Tennis, the man with perfect eyesight is

Called a liar, such the civilized game for socialized

Folk who prefer drinks with electrolytes to suds

From a cup

They seldom leave the court with dignity intact,

No pulled groin, though they often retain their jobs

Even after skunking the boss

The matador smiles and flirts his cape over the skull

Of the steaming bull, brushing aside at

The best possible moment, the cape becomes heavy 

With blood not his own, more are hurt in the

Stands from rose thorns, but if that horn

Finds flesh then it is curtains for machismo and what

About the mortgage, what am I doing way down

There by the tolling of a bell where the 

Toll gets took 

1987

Lawrence, ks

The rotten mane (2018)

  

Earth nameless stumbles into human form,

     a suit derides in mealy pleats;

the phaeton drops them at the curb,

     his cape over his klannish sheets;

Dim don treads, alligator shoe-horned,

     toward his minaret of unflinching greed;

composure escapes him, a raped morn,

     liberty lady ravaged need not plead.

The vouch of slime undoes his tongue,

    all fair and noble creature recoil;

rather air or water to quench his lust,

     don's bearings gurgle Oil.

Land promises, evict the rotten mane

of Tyrant's Tirades and more of the Same.

12-14-17